Sunday’s Asia Cup 2025 Super Four clash in Dubai was supposed to be defined by cricketing skill, runs, and wickets. Instead, the spotlight turned to gestures that carried unmistakable political overtones. Haris Rauf, one of Pakistan’s leading fast bowlers, mimicked the action of a fighter jet being shot down and flashed the ‘6-0’ sign. Sahibzada Farhan, after scoring a half-century that many considered inconsequential, raised his bat like a gun to mimic firing shots.

On the cricketing front, India’s opening pair, Shubman Gill and Abhishek Sharma, tore into the Pakistani bowlers, stitching together a dazzling 105-run partnership. India went on to chase down 172 runs with authority. Yet, what should have been remembered as a contest of cricketing dominance soon turned into a conversation about political theatre acted out on the boundary ropes.

This was far more than banter or sledging. It was a deliberate performance, a replay of official state propaganda, and it was broadcast before millions of viewers. When professional athletes on an international platform use their gestures to symbolise disputed military claims or enact violent imagery, the game ceases to be sport—it becomes a tool of propaganda. Such actions are corrosive, and both the International Cricket Council (ICC) and national boards cannot afford to treat them lightly.

Symbolism on the field: How gestures replaced the scoreboard

Haris Rauf’s gestures during practice sessions—mimicking a downed fighter jet while shouting ‘6-0’—were quickly connected to misleading claims promoted by the Pakistani Army. These were an attempt to reframe a humiliation suffered during Operation Sindoor earlier this year into a false tale of success.

Sahibzada Farhan added fuel to the fire with his “gun salute” celebration after a half-century that held little value in the bigger picture of the match. This was not the display of an emotional athlete caught in the moment; it was a gesture that fitted neatly into a pattern of sporting actions being turned into political messaging.

The gun gesture carried even more disturbing symbolism because of recent events. In April 2025, terrorists from Pakistan stormed into Pahalgam, where they targeted tourists by checking if they were Hindus before opening fire. Innocent lives were lost in this horrifying terror attack. Against this backdrop, Farhan’s gesture was seen not as harmless celebration but as a silent endorsement of the violence that scarred Kashmir’s valley.

The result was clear: for some players, the scoreboard mattered less than the propaganda they were trying to sell.

Rauf and Farhan’s signals expose Pakistan’s entrenched illness

The mimicry of a fighter jet by Haris Rauf and the gun-like celebration by Sahibzada Farhan were not random, spur-of-the-moment acts. They revealed something far more disturbing: a deep and systemic malaise in Pakistani society.

Athletes are national icons, admired by millions, and their behaviour carries weight. When such figures willingly echo the propaganda of the Pakistani Army, it shows how supremacist narratives have seeped into everyday life. Cricket, which should ideally be a bridge between nations, is transformed into yet another stage for broadcasting the delusions carefully engineered in Rawalpindi.

This behaviour is not accidental—it is the product of decades of systematic indoctrination. Pakistan’s military establishment, supported by clerics and a compliant media, has spent years teaching its people that “honour” lies in hostility toward India and that jihadist violence is noble resistance.

In this twisted environment, defeats are showcased as victories, humiliation is painted as glory, and athletes are rewarded not for sportsmanship but for parroting the Army’s lies. The tragedy is not that facts are unavailable—satellite images, international reports, and on-ground evidence of Pakistani losses are widely accessible. The real tragedy is that Pakistanis have been conditioned to reject these facts outright, choosing instead to believe comforting slogans like ‘6-0’ or to applaud theatrical gestures on a cricket field.

This supremacist conditioning has created a society that celebrates deception as patriotism. Rauf and Farhan are not isolated outliers; they are mirrors of the larger psyche. Their actions symbolise a nation where narratives outweigh evidence, fantasies are worshipped as truth, and entire generations are trapped in illusions.

Beyond the match: Why the problem extends outside cricket grounds

To understand why Pakistani cricketers acted in such a manner, one must look beyond the stadium. The fallout of cross-border strikes in recent months has not only been contested on military maps but also in the media and information space.

Commercial satellite imagery and independent analysis after the strikes revealed significant destruction of Pakistani military sites. Open-source reporting further substantiated these assessments. At the same time, images from funerals of Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and Jaish-e-Mohammad (JeM) terrorists killed in those strikes showed senior Pakistani officials in attendance. Videos of these ceremonies spread widely on social media, providing undeniable evidence of Pakistan’s backing of terror outfits.

India also released the names and personal details of LeT and JeM terrorists neutralised during the first phase of Operation Sindoor, ensuring transparency in its claims.

Yet, in Pakistan, these hard facts were repackaged. The Army and sections of the civil administration launched a counter-narrative, turning military setbacks into triumphs. By carefully selecting footage, circulating disputed images, or amplifying sympathetic spins, the state information machinery created a feedback loop that misled the population. Ordinary Pakistanis were fed with messages glorifying “resistance,” sanctifying “sacrifice,” and celebrating “moral victory”—even when evidence showed otherwise.

Pakistan’s propaganda logic: Defeats reframed through indoctrination

The strength of Pakistani propaganda lies in its simplicity and emotional pull. Victory is not defined by battlefield outcomes but by two basic markers.

First, if a Hindu or perceived “enemy” is killed, then the act is immediately celebrated as success. Violence is framed in communal terms, and even the killing of a single adversary is presented as sacrificial glory, made politically useful by the establishment.

Second, if the territorial integrity of the Muslim community or the Ummah remains formally intact—meaning no land is ceded—then even devastating battlefield losses are spun as proof of triumph.

By reducing complex strategic outcomes into symbols of blood and land, Pakistan’s ruling establishment ensures that defeats can be repackaged as victories. It is a strategy designed to make delusion appear like national pride, and it works effectively in a society conditioned through years of Islamic indoctrination.

Radicalisation’s reach: From religious pulpits to sporting arenas

This propaganda is not confined to generals and politicians. It seeps into mosques, classrooms, news feeds, and sports grounds. When clerics endorse militant imagery and legitimise martyrdom narratives, the younger generation absorbs these messages as unquestionable truths.

A teenager in a rural town may hear that violence against Hindus is a religious duty. A sportsman may grow up believing that provoking India on the cricket pitch is a form of honour. This is how Pakistan’s society becomes a breeding ground for radicalised thinking, where even athletes mirror the symbols of conflict instead of the spirit of competition.

When cricketers like Haris Rauf and Sahibzada Farhan amplify Army propaganda on international platforms, they are not just provoking India—they are reinforcing the radicalisation of their own society. This is why 76 years of people-to-people diplomacy has failed. No amount of cricket tours or cultural exchanges can undo indoctrination that is so deeply embedded.

For those in India who rush to blame the government or leaders like Narendra Modi and Amit Shah for tensions, the truth is clear. The primary reason for hostility lies not in New Delhi’s policies but in the deep-rooted Islamic supremacism that has poisoned Pakistan’s psyche.

The Indian response: Breaking Pakistan’s jihadist illusions and propaganda war

The mindset displayed during the match represents a psyche that seeks to “bleed India through a thousand cuts.” This is a doctrine where exporting terrorists, targeting Hindus, and citing Quranic verses to justify killings are seen as legitimate strategies. For India, waiting and hoping that Pakistan will abandon this radicalisation is not an option.

Sunday’s match revealed how deeply indoctrination runs—not just among the masses but even among Pakistan’s elites. The only effective response is for India to adopt a proactive security strategy. That means striking first, dismantling terror camps before they can export violence, and denying Pakistan the satisfaction of claiming even a symbolic victory.

The next phase of Operation Sindoor must therefore go beyond airstrikes. It must not only destroy airbases, level strategic centres, and dismantle terror camps but also capture and hold some enemy territory. This would mirror what Israel achieved in 1967 during the Six-Day War, where territorial gains prevented its enemies from declaring false victories.

If Pakistan were to lose even a small part of its land, it would deal a direct blow to its propaganda machine. The narrative that “the Ummah remains intact” would collapse. Even if Islamabad tried to spin losses with slogans like ‘6-0’, the harsh reality of territorial defeat would make such propaganda less convincing to its own people.

A more proactive India would not only weaken Pakistan’s propaganda but also discourage its elites—including cricketers—from openly serving as tools of the Army’s psychological warfare.